From the cover you'd expect some old-fashioned country music, not Johnny Cash or Willie Nelson, but something of real vintage like singing cowboys such as Roy Rogers or Tex Ritter. However, those preconceived notions are blown apart like the gas tank of a Pinto after hearing the opening track, "Son of the Snake." This ain't your poppa's country music, pardner. Neither blasphemous nor reverent, the Famous have their mud-soaked boots planted in both punk and Southern twang.

"Son of the Snake" sets the table - relentless Pixies howl with a redneck accent, scarier and more challenging than anything on Metallica's last two records. While it's easy to drop the Americana tag on these boys, what I usually hear from the genre is never this aggressive and lyrically stinging. The Famous are a thinking man's Reverend Horton Heat or the Violent Femmes gone electric. Some of the words bite like rattlesnakes, especially the bitter singalongs "Tear" and "Get You Back," but there are drop-dead hilarious narratives as well such as vocalist Laurence Scott's yearning to see the world's smallest horse on "Midway."